“Yes. Thirty thousand pounds.”      

       “As much as that! Oh, Mr. Bleke!”      

       She began to cry softly. She pressed his hand. Roland gaped at her.     

       “Mr. Bleke, there has been a terrible slump in Wildcat Reefs. To-day, they may be absolutely worthless.”      

       Roland felt as if a cold hand had been laid on his spine.     

       “Wor-worthless!” he stammered.     

       Mrs. Windlebird looked at him with moist eyes.     

       “You can imagine how my husband feels about this. It was on his advice that you invested your money. He holds himself directly responsible. He is in a terrible state of mind. He is frantic. He has grown so fond of you, Mr. Bleke, that he can hardly face the thought that he has been the innocent instrument of your trouble.”      

       Roland felt that it was an admirable comparison. His sensations were precisely those of a leading actor in an earthquake. The solid earth seemed to melt under him.     

       “We talked it over last night after you had gone to bed, and we came to the conclusion that there was only one honorable step to take. We must make good your losses. We must buy back those shares.”      

       A ray of hope began to steal over Roland's horizon.     

       “But——” he began.     

       “There are no buts, really, Mr. Bleke. We should neither of us know a minute's peace if we didn't do it. Now, you paid thirty thousand pounds for the shares, you said? Well”—she held out a pink slip of paper to him—“this will make everything all right.”      

       Roland looked at the check.     

       “But—but this is signed by you,” he said.     

       “Yes. You see, if Geoffrey had to sign a check for that amount, it would mean selling out some of his stock, and in his position, with every movement watched by enemies, he can not afford to do it. It might ruin the plans of years. But I have 

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